Scisaac Drabbles
by alterocentrics
Summary: A collection of Scisaac Drabbles that I wrote for prompts from tumblr. Contains fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, you name it.
1. Isaac's Birthday

Isaac shuffled sleepily into the McCalls' kitchen, running a hand through the crazy bedhead that he had. The smell of something cooking had dragged Isaac out of the guest room that he had been staying in. He was surprised to find Scott standing in the middle of the kitchen, looking distraught with flour in his hair and some kind of batter smeared across the side of his face. The kitchen was a mess; the sink and counters filled with various baking ingredients and cooking utensils.

"What are you doing?" Isaac asked around a yawn. "You have batter on your face, by the way."

Scott frowned and rubbed at his cheek, observing the mess around him. "I was trying to make a cake, but…" he gestured vaguely. "It's a lot harder than it sounds."

"Why were you trying to make a cake?" Isaac asked, picking up a wooden spoon that had something that looked possibly chocolate flavored on it and frowning at it.

"For your birthday," Scott said. When Isaac looked up at him, surprised, he said, "I know it's kind of stupid, I just wanted to do something special for it. I feel like… Like you probably haven't had a really good birthday in a while."

Isaac looked at the ground, biting the inside of his cheek. "No, I haven't really." Honestly, he hadn't even remembered that it was his birthday. It'd been years since he'd even celebrated it, and even then it was usually just him and Camden going for ice cream or something. He cleared his throat in the slight awkward silence that spread over them.

"Yeah, I'm sorry but the cake turned out as kind of a bust though," Scott apologized sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck.

Isaac laughed. "It's OK; it's the thought that counts."

"Oh, I did get you a present though," Scott said, running out of the kitchen and up the stairs. He reappeared a moment later, a haphazardly gift-wrapped package in hand. "Happy birthday." He held it out to Isaac.

"You didn't have to—" Isaac started, but Scott cut him off and shoved the gift into his hands.

"I know. Just shut up and open it."

Isaac smiled and did as he was told, somehow ripping off the wrapping, which was more tape than actual wrapping paper. Inside was a long stretch of soft navy blue fabric.

"You bought me a scarf?" Isaac said, running the soft material through his fingers.

"Yeah, I don't know. It just seemed…right," Scott replied with a shrug.

Grinning, Isaac wrapped it around his neck. "I love it. Thanks."

Scott beamed back. "You're welcome."

They both turned back to the huge mess that spread over the kitchen. "I should probably clean this up, then." Scott sighed.

"Or we could just go get pancakes," Isaac suggested, pointing a thumb over his shoulder at the door.

"Yeah, pancakes sound good," Scott agreed.

Both smiling, they abandoned the disaster that was the kitchen, and Isaac had to say, spending the day with Scott seemed like the best birthday he could've asked for.


	2. Broken

It happens one night after dinner at the McCalls'.

Isaac had been living there for almost three weeks, and he was just starting to get comfortable there, past the awkward guest phase and now starting to feel like the place was an actual home. Mrs. McCall had accepted him with open arms, had told him that he could stay as long as he needed, and, thankfully, hadn't asked many questions.

Mrs. McCall was working late, but she had left some lasagna in the fridge for Isaac and Scott to heat up for dinner. They ate it in front of the TV (which Isaac had fixed in the first week that he had moved in), watching some stupid TV movie that neither of them were interested in, and spent most of the time just laughing at the bad acting. When they finished, Isaac stood and grabbed Scott's plate to bring the dishes to the kitchen.

"You don't have to do that," Scott said.

"It's fine; I'm not your guest," Isaac called back over his shoulder. "I've got to help out somehow."

Scott smiled and turned back to the TV. A sudden crash followed by the sound of shattering glass echoed through the house a moment later. Scott jumped off the couch and ran into the kitchen, socks sliding on the tile.

"You okay?" Scott asked.

Isaac stood in the middle of the kitchen, the glass that he had dropped in shards around him. "Yeah, I'm sorry it just—it slipped. I'll clean it up," he said. He immediately dropped to his knees and began picking up the broken glass with his bare hands. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—"

"Isaac, stop, it's fine," Scott tried to assure him, but Isaac was still frantically picking up the glass. A particularly large piece sliced his palm, drawing blood. "Isaac. Isaac, stop."

Scott stepped over the broken glass and put his hand on the other boy's shoulder.

"No, I—I can fix it," Isaac whispered. His hands were shaking. He could hear his father's voice in his head, yelling at him. '_Can't even do the simplest things! Clean this mess up, you useless little shit.' _

"Isaac," Scott said soothingly, grabbing his wrists.

Finally, Isaac looked up at him. "I…I'm sorry, Scott."

"It's alright. Here," he grabbed a towel off the counter and gingerly took the glass from Isaac's hands, which were crisscrossed with shallow cuts from the sharp pieces. As he watched, the cuts began to heal.

Scott pulled Isaac up from his knees, still holding onto his wrists.

"I'm sorry," Isaac apologized again, voice thick. He was looking down at his shoes, unable to look Scott in the eye.

"It's OK," Scott said sincerely, his voice soft. He pulled the taller boy into a hug, rubbing his hand up and down his back. "It's alright."

Isaac slid his arms around Scott's waist, buried his face into Scott's shoulder and let himself be soothed, slowing his breathing until it matched Scott's, slow and steady.


	3. Apologies

Isaac never understood Scott's perpetual need to save everybody, his extreme aversion to killing anyone, even someone who had proven to be nothing but evil and had threatened him, his friends, and everyone Scott had ever cared about. Maybe Scott was just a better person than him. No, scratch that. Scott was _definitely_ a better person than Isaac was, and even though his exceptionally moral views often complicated situations, he admired Scott for it. It was one of the things Isaac liked most about Scott—he didn't back down when it came to his beliefs. Scott was a natural born alpha, the kind Isaac could get behind. The good kind, so unlike Derek. And even though it caused most of the arguments between Isaac and Scott, he would never wish for Scott to change.

They'd had one such argument a few hours before, and Isaac found himself sitting in a dark, empty park at two o'clock in the morning, light rain falling from the sky. His long legs pushed him slowly back and forth in the swing as he looked at the ground, thinking over the argument. He knew Scott was right, of course; murder wasn't the answer, but it was so much _easier_, killing someone he didn't know, who deserved it anyway, than possibly seeing one of his friends die.

Isaac sighed and leaned his head back, looking up to the sky, eyes closed. Raindrops fell lightly on his face. He heard footsteps approaching, crunching on the gravel. When he looked, he found Scott standing in front of him.

"I finally found you," Scott said, taking a seat in the swing next to him. "I've been looking for you all over the place."

Isaac dipped his head and there was a beat of silence before both of them said, "I'm sorry." That drew small smiles from both of them.

"Why are you sorry?" Isaac asked. "You were right. I'm always a little too quick to jump right to murder. Guess it's just instinct, by now."

"I just feel a little guilty about yelling at you," Scott replied, twisting the chains of the swing and then releasing them, spinning around a few times before bringing it to a halt.

"It's fine," Isaac said, because really, it was. It didn't bother him as much when Scott yelled at him as when someone like, say, Derek, yelled at him. He knew Scott wouldn't hurt him, and that he would apologize soon, if not immediately, after an argument.

"And I'm sorry that you sat out here in the rain for so long. You could've just come home," Scott said quietly.

"Naw, I like it out here," Isaac answered. "'S nice."

"Yeah," Scott agreed.

They stayed like that, silently swinging back and forth, for a few minutes. "We should probably go home," Scott suggested, rising from the swing.

"Yeah." Isaac stood too, stretching his slightly stiff limbs. Scott took Isaac's hand, thumb rubbing circles over the back of it, and pulled him closer. Isaac let him, their eyes connected. He bent his head so Scott could easily lean up and kiss him. Their lips pressed together softly, Scott's other hand coming up to his hair, deepening the kiss.

These were the moments with Scott that Isaac liked best: kissing in the rain, or lying in bed together after repeatedly hitting the snooze button on the alarm, or holding hands as they walked down the street. Trying to make breakfast together in the morning, even though Scott messed it up somehow every time, burning the eggs or flipping the pancakes too forcefully so they stuck on the ceiling. Watching horror movies together on a Saturday night, Scott burying his head in Isaac's shoulder during the scary parts. Those normal moments when Isaac just looked at Scott and could feel love expanding inside his chest, untouched by fear of the future, those were Isaac's favorite moments.

They broke apart, resting their foreheads against each other's. "I love you," Scott whispered, bumping his nose affectionately against Isaac's.

"I love you, too," Isaac spoke softly back, pulling Scott by their still linked hands toward home. Home, where they would make hot chocolate before going to sleep curled against each other, ignoring the fact that the next day they could fight a pack of alphas or an evil druid or something equally as terrible, just enjoying those rare normal moments together.


End file.
